


Prelude

by lyryk (s_k)



Series: Like Wind in My Sails [2]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Curse of the Black Pearl AU, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-25
Updated: 2009-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:56:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk





	Prelude

Being in Tortuga usually makes Jack want to whistle. Not that he necessarily approves of a place that’s a haven for killers and pillagers, but he can’t honestly say he disapproves either, being something of a pillager himself. There’s just something sweet about the air in Tortuga, even if he has to keep himself away from the likes of Giselle and Scarlett. They pack a mean wallop, and not at all for the reasons people might be thinking of. 

This time in Tortuga, he’s facing not too pleasant a task during his first hour in the place. Seeing Barbossa is never a good option at the best of times, and definitely not when he’s stolen Jack’s ship again. Captain Jack Sparrow is once again dancing to Barbossa’s tune, and he doesn’t care if anyone thinks the less of him for that. He’ll do anything to get the _Pearl_ back.

He stops in front of the _Faithful Bride_ , crosses his fingers, takes a deep breath, and then pushes his way in through the swinging doors.

He’s there all right. Along with Pintell and Ragetti and the rest of the scurvy scumbags that call themselves Jack’s faithful crew when he’s Captain. As he still is.

‘You’re late,’ Barbossa observes coolly, his steel eyes on Jack as he pulls up a stool at their table. Jack spares a withering glance for his former crew, at which most of them scurry away.

‘Sorry about that, Hector,’ he says evenly. ‘Bit of a problem, getting to faraway ports in time when one doesn’t have a ship, and all.’

Barbossa waves Jack’s words away, pushing a tankard in his direction. ‘Drink up, Jackie. I’ve got a proposition even you couldn’t say no to.’

Jack clinks his mug against Barbossa’s and pretends to take a sip. There’s no trusting Hector, not during the best of times. ‘What’s this about, Hector?’

‘In a word: Commodore-massacre. Pure and slow and delicious.’

‘Norrington?’ 

‘The very same, laddie.’

‘Why?’

Barbossa looks at him like he’s gone daft. ‘’Cause he’s the pirate hunter, laddie. Or did you miss that part when you were hanging from the gallows with a rope ’round your pretty neck?’

‘That’s bygones, Barbossa. I don’t care less what Norrington does, as long as he stays out of my hair.’

Barbossa leans forward much too eagerly, his foul breath on Jack’s face. ‘Ah, but you might think differently once you hear what I’ve found out, Jack.’

Jack wrinkles his nose pointedly and pushes his stool back a bit. ‘Let’s hear it, then. I haven’t got all bloody day.’

Barbossa laughs, and Jack feels a bite of curiosity despite himself. ‘Ever heard of a pirate called James Clarke, Jack?’

‘Should I have?’

‘He were a bit afore your time, but that’s beside the point. The point being, he was also Norrington’s great-grandpater.’

‘You don’t say,’ Jack says, only mildly interested. So the Commodore has a pirate ancestor he probably doesn’t know about. Might be fun to see his mouth fall open if Jack ever gets to tell him, but still not worth getting excited over.

But there’s more to this little tale. Lots more that has Barbossa practically foaming at the mouth. Something about treasure and how only the Commodore’s blood will unlock it. Some great bloody treasure that Barbossa’s aching to get his grimy hands on. 

Jack listens with growing impatience. Treasure’s pretty, all right. But since he lost his _Pearl_ , the thought of treasure’s just not the same. It’s as though the world’s all in colour when his ship’s between him and the sea. Without her the world’s just a bloody, colourless, unforgiving place.

‘I still don’t see how I come into this, Barbossa.’

‘It’s simple, lad,’ Barbossa says, tossing back his drink and gesturing for another. ‘Get me Norrington, and I’ll think about giving the _Pearl_ to you.’

‘That’s it? That’s all you want in exchange for the _Pearl_?’

‘What d’you mean, that’s it? You think getting to a Commodore is that easy?’

‘I can do it.’ Jack shrugs. ‘What’s the catch, Barbossa?’

‘No catch, Jack. Get me the Commodore, and the ship’s yours.’

‘Why?’

‘If you must know, what that treasure’ll bring me is worth a thousand _Pearl_ s.’

Clearly, Barbossa doesn’t know much about the _Black Pearl_.

 

\--

 

To cut a long story short, Jack agrees to Barbossa’s deal, and is soon sailing to Port Royal in a filthy little fishing sloop, complete with rats and bilge, trying to get comfortable on a dirty little bunk below deck. 

He isn’t judging himself for agreeing to hand the Commodore over to a bunch of pirates thirsting for his blood. It’s still a pity about young Norrington, though. He did give Jack one day’s head start, after all. Right after he’d put a stinking noose around Jack’s neck.

No, Norrington wouldn’t spare him a second thought if their roles were reversed, so Jack isn’t going to go feeling too sorry for him. 

 

\--

 

It’s coming on Christmas, and Port Royal’s pretty as a peach. It almost makes Jack wish he had something to feel happy about.

He passes by Norrington’s house on the way to Will and Elizabeth’s, unable to resist taking a peek. Will’d pointed out the house to him during a past visit. It’s barely the first light of morning, but Jack doesn’t dare to get too close. He’s just going to pass by for a quick look, and then slip away.

There it is, pretty and well-kept as ever. Not one of those posh affairs one might expect a Commodore to live in. It’s small and white, pretty ivy running up its walls. Someone’s outside at this hour of the morning, on his knees in the mud, pruning a rose bush. Jack ducks behind a tree across the street, and watches.

The man in the garden has long dark brown hair falling past his shoulders, and damn it if that isn’t one of Jack’s weaknesses. He peers around the tree, waiting to see if the rest of the man is as pretty as the hair that’s covering most of his face as he bends over the bush, snipping away with long, steady fingers.

Then he straightens, pushing his hair away from his face with an arm, keeping his muddy fingers away from his hair, and bugger everything if it isn’t the man himself. Even without the uniform and the powdered wig, there’s no mistaking that bloody aristocratic nose and those long legs, which Jack can see clearly enough now that Norrington’s standing upright.

Jack ducks further behind the tree now. _Bugger everything._ If Norrington catches sight of him now, his number’s up, well and good. 

He doesn’t. He brushes the dirt off his hands, draws his dressing gown more closely about himself and returns to the house, his shoes crunching on the gravel of the walk.

Jack’s mind doesn’t stop racing all the way to the Turners’. 

 

\--

 

‘Jack!’ the newly-appointed Mrs Turner squeals, throwing her arms about him in a most inappropriate and unladylike manner. Behind her, her husband sighs and waits for her to disentangle herself from Jack before holding out his hand for a very firm and blacksmith-y handshake. 

‘So, why aren’t you two on your honeymoon?’ Jack asks, throwing himself into an armchair and taking a swig of rum. Rum’s been his girl since the _Pearl_ went away. Always there, always making him happy. Sure, it’s a fake happiness that almost never lasts until dawn. But he’s not such a fool that he won’t take it.

‘You didn’t come for the wedding.’ Elizabeth glares, hands on hips.

‘Am here to make amends for that, love. Mind if I join in on the honeymoon?’ Will blushes a vivid red at that, and Elizabeth laughs.

‘Oh Jack, you’re incorrigible. What are you doing here?’

‘Can’t tell you that, love. Official pirate business.’

‘So you aren’t here for the reception?’ she asks.

His ears prick up at that. ‘When’s the reception?’

‘Tomorrow night. That’s why we haven’t left for our honeymoon yet. We sail the morning after.’

‘Hm. Has Norrington been invited?’

‘Of course he has.’ Will’s voice is almost a growl.

‘And will he come?’ Jack grins at Will.

‘Of course he will, Jack,’ Elizabeth says. ‘You should have seen him at the wedding. He was every bit the gentleman. Wasn’t he, Will?’

Jack glances quickly at Will, who seems to have wilted a little. He nods in a convincing enough way, though. ‘He certainly dispelled any rumours that he and I were going to duel to the death at sunrise the following day.’

 _And a good thing, too,_ Jack thinks, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. There’s no questioning who would come out the victor if Norrington were to duel the whelp, no matter how good said whelp is with a sword.

‘Oh, Jack,’ Elizabeth says, looking suddenly crestfallen. ‘You can’t be at the reception, of course you can’t. What was I thinking? Practically the entire Royal Navy’s going to be there. And that’s why you weren’t at the wedding, either. I’m sorry if I sounded insensitive by accusing you of not being there.’

‘Not to worry, Elizabeth. I’ll just hole up in the study with a few bottles of rum, and no one’ll be the wiser. Savvy?’

Well, no one but Norrington, if everything goes according to plan. But the good Turners don’t need to know that.

 

\--

 

Everything seems to be going like clockwork. Sometimes Jack’s so brilliant, he amazes even himself.

There he is in the study, looking through a crack in the door at Port Royal’s finest, parading themselves in _their_ finest. Women in swishing silk that makes them sweat, causing the powder to stick to their skin. The men aren’t any prettier, with their ridiculous wigs and fopperies. 

Jack settles down beside the door with his trusty bottle, and waits patiently. It’s not long before he spots Norrington. That blue uniform coat with its pretty gold trimming falls to his long thighs, and Jack wonders what it would be like to run his fingers over that brocade. Pretty things catch his eye. He’s thinking about the brocade, of course.

Jack’s wracked his brains to think of a way to lure Norrington into the study, but come up with nothing. There doesn’t seem to be any other way to get to him but wait until he takes his leave, and accost him on his way home. Jack had found out from Elizabeth earlier on, in the course of casual conversation, that Norrington had walked to the Turners’.

Norrington takes his leave earlier than most of the other guests, but damn everything if those two ubiquitous lieutenants of his don’t go along with him. Jack follows at a distance, keeping to the shadows. They come to a crossroads, and the taller lieutenant (Groves, Jack seems to remember he's called), says something about heading to a pub. Norrington declines politely, and Jack silently blesses his straight-laced soul. He’s just made Jack’s task easier. 

Norrington’s companions go one way and he goes the other, and Jack resumes his dogging of the man’s footsteps. They haven’t gone more than a couple of minutes when Norrington makes a sudden turn and disappears around a corner. 

Jack waits a few moments before making the turn himself. And hears a pistol being cocked. 

‘Step out into the light, with your hands where I can see them,’ Norrington says from the shadows.

Jack does as told. Keeping his empty hands in front of him, he steps out into the moonlight.

‘Sparrow. I should have known it would be you following me.’ He steps out too, his hand steady on his gun.

‘Easy there, Commodore. Not looking to kill, or get killed. Savvy?’

‘Somehow, I find that very hard to believe.’ He gestures toward the wall with the hand that’s not holding the damned gun trained between Jack’s eyes. ‘Over there. Put your hands on the wall.’

Jack does feel a twinge of fear now. This isn’t the man he’d seen last at close quarters, beside the fort wall, right after Elizabeth had rejected him in public. At this moment he’s all hard eyes and cold steel, and Jack knows he’s capable of pulling the trigger with no qualms.

Suddenly, this isn’t seeming like such a good plan, after all.

‘Commodore—’

‘No talking, Sparrow. Do it.’

Jack does it. He turns away from Norrington and puts his hands against the wall, hoping against hope that the man who thought to give him one day’s head start is still in there somewhere.

‘One false move, and I _will_ pull the trigger,’ Norrington warns, coming up behind Jack. He feels hard metal pressed up against the small of his back as Norrington’s other hand brushes down Jack’s sides, and then he kneels and feels Jack’s boots for weapons.

He steps back a little then, but the pistol is still against Jack’s back. ‘But for the knife in your boot, you’re unarmed,’ he observes.

Despite his situation, Jack can’t help being impressed. ‘Told you, Commodore. I wasn’t planning on hurting you.’

‘What do you want?’

Jack turns his head sideways to look at Norrington, his hands still on the wall. ‘Put the gun down, mate. Those things make me nervous.’

Norrington lets out a short laugh. ‘Do you seriously think you’re going to walk away from me without getting arrested?’

Jack feels like a bucket of cold water has just been upended over his head. ‘You’d send me to the gallows? Again?’

‘For goodness' sake, man. You were _following_ me. Surely you knew the risks.’

‘Aye, I did. But I came after you to talk to you, and I came unarmed. Mostly. Can you not agree to a truce for a bit, just to hear me out?’

Norrington sighs in exasperation. ‘I can make no promises that you will go free, Sparrow, no matter how innocuous you would have me believe your intentions are.’

‘Look, mate, all I ask is that you don’t shoot me until you’ve heard what I have to say.’

‘I’m not going to kill you, Sparrow,’ he says impatiently. ‘But I have no choice but to arrest a known pirate, if I have him within my grasp. Tell me what you want.’

Jack doesn’t dare take his hands off that damned wall. He shifts a bit so they can look at each other properly, and speaks quickly.

‘I wanted to ask you if you’d agree to a deal, mate. There are fresh pirates in these waters, and they’re getting in my hair. So to speak. If you’ll agree to it, I would very much appreciate a letter of Marque in exchange for information on how you can prevent said pirates from ransacking the towns under your watch.’

Norrington’s eyes narrow in suspicion. ‘You’d betray your own kind? I thought you lived by a code. Honour amongst thieves, or whatever passes for honour amongst your kind.’

Jack looks him squarely in the eyes, fingers mentally crossed. ‘I may be a thief, Commodore, but I’m no killer. These men I’m talking of, they’d burn a town to the ground with no regard for its people, just so they could get their hands on what isn’t theirs. Savvy? And I don’t plan to tell you where these men roost. I couldn’t if I wanted to, since I don’t know myself. But I can tell you where they plan to strike next, because I know you’ll try your damnedest to stop them. And if I can get a bit of leniency from you in the process, well, that wouldn’t hurt me either.’

Norrington shakes his head. ‘You’ll have to do better than that, Sparrow. Give me something first.’

‘Zima. He plans to attack Morant Bay, and attack it soon.’

Norrington takes a sharp breath, and Jack can tell he’s heard of Zima, at least. ‘How soon?’

‘In the next fortnight, as far’s I know.’

Norrington nods, never taking his eyes off Jack. ‘I will need to verify that. Give yourself up, Sparrow. If your information is indeed correct, I will see to it myself that you are released, and the leniency you seek granted to you.’

‘You’re asking me to willingly let myself be put in your cells again? Perhaps face the gallows again?’

‘I have no choice in the matter, Sparrow. If you are indeed a man of your word, you will not be harmed. You have my word.’

The gun be damned. Jack drops his hands from the wall, and turns to face Norrington.

‘Sparrow,’ he says warningly, taking a step back and raising the gun again.

‘You won’t take me back there, Commodore. You’ll have to shoot me first, because I’m not going back to the gallows.’

‘Damn it, Sparrow. How else did you think this would turn out?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Jack snaps. ‘I figured you wouldn’t be so afraid of me that you want to see me hanging from a rope again.’

‘ _Afraid_ of you?’ Norrington says, looking almost amused. ‘You certainly have a twisted sense of reality, Sparrow.’

‘That’s Captain Sparrow to you, Commodore,’ Jack says evenly.

‘Well, _Captain_ , despite what you may think, I have no personal desire to see you hang. You’ve broken the law, and you know what the penalty for that is. I saw you go to the gallows once, and I will have to see it done again, if it comes to that.’

‘And what if it doesn’t come to that?’ Jack stays very still, keeping his eyes on Norrington.

‘Then, as I said, I will keep my word and grant you clemency.’

‘And in the meantime, you want me to languish in your fort? Do you know what Navy men do to pirates in cells?’

Norrington frowns. ‘I can assure you, Sparrow, no harm will come to you.’

‘Aye? I’m afraid it won’t work that way, mate. I gave you something, and you have to give me something in return.’

‘I can give you nothing, Sparrow, except my word.’

There’s just no arguing with the man, apparently.

‘I’ll run,’ Jack warns. ‘I’ll run, and you’ll have to shoot me.’

‘Then run,’ Norrington says calmly, his hand steady on the gun. 

Jack stays frozen. Norrington points the gun to the sky and fires, the sound echoing harshly around them.

‘Jesus, man!’ Jack cries out, nearly jumping out of his skin.

‘Run,’ Norrington says quietly. His face looks a little pale under the wig, and even in the moonlight Jack can see that his eyes are an unusual shade of green. He hadn’t expected to stand there having his life threatened, and to be able to think of nothing but the colour of his would-be-killer’s eyes.

Jack takes a step backward. Norrington doesn’t move. Just keeps staring at Jack with those eyes, his lips set firmly together.

Jack turns his back on him, and starts walking. Every nerve in his body’s tingling, anticipating the bullet slamming into him. 

It never comes.

Jack reaches the end of the lane, turns the corner.

And collapses against the wall, shaking. For a moment, only a moment. But for that moment, he’s awash with something he’s never felt before.

He leaves Port Royal that night, without saying goodbye to Elizabeth and Will.

 

\--

 

Two weeks pass without much incident. Jack spends them at Morant Bay in the safe house he has there, his home away from the _Pearl_ , his ears pricked for news of what’s happening. As far as he’s heard, Zima’s plans haven’t changed. Without a ship, without a crew, without any allies at hand, Jack has little choice but to wait. And hope that Norrington will come.

It begins at a few minutes past midnight one night.

The sound of cannon fire, loud enough to wake the dead. The sounds of people screaming under a pirate attack. 

Jack throws on his clothes and goes out into the street, not sure what he plans to do. He just knows that he can’t hide under his bed and let it happen.

He finds that the good people of Morant Bay are somewhat melodramatic. They’re running around screaming all right, but as far as Jack can see, there aren’t any pirates in sight. Not on land, anyway.

Out at sea, it’s a different story altogether.

Norrington gives him a battle like he’s never seen before. The _Dauntless_ has never looked more beautiful to Jack as it does that night, blazing away at Zima’s ship. Zima’s got a fleet of his own—four ships, all almost as ugly as his _Prince_ —but Norrington’s got a few of his own too, and they are all between Morant Bay and Zima’s fleet.

Zima turns tail and flees when it’s clear that he’s taking a beating, and the Navy ships give pursuit. Jack stays in the bay long after the ships have vanished from sight, watching the waves, the sharp smell of gunpowder in his nostrils.

 

\--

 

It’s a few days later when Norrington walks into the tavern at Tortuga. Too many heads turn when he enters, but most look away after a bit. This is Tortuga, after all. Folks don’t mind other folks, so long as everyone lives and lets live. 

He does get a few more looks than most folk would, though. Jack can tell he’s tried to roughen himself down a little, but there’s nothing he can really do to hide his height and that aristocratic build. Even in the simple, rough clothes he’s in, and the bare head, he stands a mile out from the crowd. 

Jack’s in one of the darker corners. He lifts a hand, but Norrington’s eyes have already sought him out. Jack watches as he weaves his way through the packed tavern to Jack’s corner, and as he gets close, Jack sees that he’s looking much too pale.

‘Sit down, Com—mate,’ Jack says quickly, pushing a stool toward him.

‘Thank you.’ He sits stiffly, closing his eyes for a moment.

‘You’re hurt,’ Jack says. ‘The battle?’

He nods. ‘You heard about it?’

‘Heard and saw, mate.’

‘You were there?’ he says in surprise.

‘Aye. What happened when you followed Zima?’

‘We were forced to turn back eventually. We had too many wounded, and my priority was for my men’s safety. There was no point following them anymore, when we didn’t have the wherewithal to fight or capture them.’

‘You did the right thing, mate. No point letting your men die, when that’d serve no purpose.’

Norrington nods silently, looking down at the table, and Jack can see it’s just killing him inside that he had to let Zima get away.

‘You saved scores, if not hundreds, of lives that night, mate. Don’t be too hard on yourself.’ Jack pushes his bottle of rum toward Norrington.

Norrington takes a long swallow before setting the bottle down, his fingers clenched around it, forcing a harsh laugh. ‘Are you trying to make me feel better about letting a notorious pirate escape, Captain?’

Jack looks suspiciously at him, but he seems to mean no malice.

‘I’m grateful for your help,’ he goes on. ‘It seems as if you are indeed a man of your word, Captain Sparrow.’ 

He takes out a sealed envelope and places it on the table between them. Jack glances down at the official seal of wax. ‘Looks like we’re both men of our word, Com—’ He bites back the word in time.

But he’s also stopped speaking for another reason. Behind the Commodore’s head, he’s just spotted Pintell and Ragetti at the counter.

It hits Jack like a tonne of bricks then, why he’d started this in the first place. He’d wanted to give Norrington something, lure him into trusting Jack just a little, play him until the time was right to hand him over to Barbossa. 

And that isn’t the only thing that hits Jack at that moment, either. It also strikes him that if the _Pearl_ ’s crew is there, then Barbossa can’t be far behind.

‘Norrington,’ he says quickly, getting to his feet. ‘You need to follow me, and you need to do it now. Don’t look around, don’t say a word. Just come with me.’

To Jack’s absolute amazement, Norrington takes one look at his face, and stands and nods. Jack grabs his letter with one hand and Norrington’s arm with the other, and practically drags him out into the alley behind the _Faithful Bride_. 

‘What was that about?’ Norrington asks, sagging against the wall, and Jack knows his injuries from the battle are worse than he’s letting on.

Jack sees no harm in telling him part of the truth. ‘Some of Barbossa’s crew are in there. They’ll be out for your blood if they see you.’

‘Thank you, Spar—Captain. That was decent of you.’

‘You can thank me when you’re home safe, Commodore. Do you have a ship?’

‘I have my sloop,’ he confirms.

‘And you feel fit to sail her?’

He nods. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Well, then, you’d best be off.’

Norrington nods and pushes himself away from the wall, and turns to go.

‘Commodore, wait,’ Jack says, and he turns back around, looking at Jack expectantly.

‘What’s your name?’

Norrington smiles faintly. ‘James.’

‘Until next time then, Commodore James.’ Jack holds out his hand. 

Norrington—James—takes it unhesitatingly, and shakes it firmly. The tiniest of smiles graces his face. ‘Any time you feel like sharing more information, Captain, be my guest.’

Jack touches his fingers to his hat and gives him a little bow, and he smiles swiftly and is swallowed up by the night before Jack can think of anything else to say.


End file.
